


the self is not so weightless (nor whole and unbroken)

by well_i_tried



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Injury, Dave | Technoblade and Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit are Siblings, Gen, How Do I Tag, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Just Roll With It, Minecraft, Monsters, Nightmares, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Platonic Relationships, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Toby Smith | Tubbo, Protective Tommyinnit, Psychological Horror, Scars, Separation Anxiety, Stimming, Survival Horror, They're all OOC, They/Them pronouns for Eret, Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit Friendship, TommyInnit Angst (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit are Siblings, and now im posting it, but real life -ish, im not actually sure what this is i just had an idea, im trying to think of tw, its more thoughts than anything, leave me alone, let them be bros, my b, no one actually does anything, there will be very slight self harm tho, this all sounds so bad, uhh, yes i am self-projecting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:08:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27534277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/well_i_tried/pseuds/well_i_tried
Summary: Things freeze for an instant. The world goes staticky and everything jerks slightly to the left before settling again, the cacophony of white noise that accompanied the moment fading back into pleasant nothingness.The birds don’t start chirping again.Two boys stand on a wooden path. They were not there a moment ago. Distantly, shouting reaches their ears. It’s drowned out by the humming of Mellohi.The birds start chirping again.
Relationships: Dave | Technoblade & Eret, Dave | Technoblade & Toby Smith | Tubbo & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit, Dave | Technoblade & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Eret & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Eret & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), No Romantic Relationship(s), Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Toby Smith | Tubbo & Wilbur Soot, TommyInnit & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 161
Kudos: 674





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> uhhh hi! ive finally caved and wrote a mcyt fic. im not exactly sure where its going cause it was more like word-vomit onto paper but yeah :) please enjoy!!
> 
> i also didnt read over this again oops

Tommy is awake but his eyes are closed. This is routine. Shuffling off to the right has him tensing for a moment, trying to discern whether or not it was safe. When nothing presents itself, he starts humming. 

The notes if  _Mellohi_ tug at his worn throat, and the shuffling abruptly stops. He doesn’t. He can stop when he gets his answer. 

Not even a second later, he does. Familiar, jumping tunes of  _Cat_ reach his ears and he sighs audibly, opening his eyes. 

He does not expect to see wood above him. 

_Dark walls, dark ceilings, dark floors—_

Tommy hasn’t woken up to wood in—How long has it been? What month is it? Maybe the year has changed already. He doesn’t remember what season it was before they—before...before. 

The humming grows more urgent and it takes Tommy a second to realize its him.  _Mellohi_ is reverberating around his chest with such an intensity that he feels like he’s shaking. Maybe he is. He can’t really breath, either, and his fingers are starting to tingle and why does he—

_Cat_ flows into his ears, quiet and familiar and scratchy and slightly off key. But if  _Cat_ is there then so must—

Tommy looks to the side and nearly cries; Tubbo is laying across the room from him. He looks half dead and the bandages around his throat don’t really help his case. But he’s there and he’s okay and he’s—

_It stuck to everything: his clothes, his skin, his hair. It stained the stone red and he couldn’t look away, panic crawling up his throat—_

He’s alive. The breath that inflates Tubbo’s chest with every inhale in tandem with the pauses in  _Cat_ sooth his frayed nerves. Slowly,  _Mellohi_ fades from his lips and they’re left staring at each other in silence. 

Silence puts him on edge and his skin crawls in response. He twitches his hand in Tubbo’s direction, hoping the other boy understands. 

He does. He always does. 

In synch, the two move up of the beds they’re laid on, freezing for a moment at the creak the tired wood let’s out. Nothing happens for twelve seconds and they’re moving again, hands trembling and meeting in the middle of the room. 

“Hi,” Tubbo whispers, voice trembling and breathy. 

“Hey, Big Man.” Tommy’s throat twinges sharply and his hand comes up to find bandages resting snug against his neck. 

Why were there bandages there?

_Screaming, screaming, screaming—_

Tubbo’s hand follows his up to the wrappings, tracing them gently before mirroring the action on his own. 

“I’m not sure, either,” he answers to Tommy’s unasked question. 

Tommy hums noncommittally in response before looking around. This place feels familiar; the mess looks organized and the trinkets resting around the room sends a pleasant pull through his chest. When he turns back to Tubbo the boy is looking around the rooms as well. 

The blonde hums again, and Tubbo turns. “Where are we?” 

Tubbo seems to mull over it for a second, the shorter letting his eyes wander again. “I’m not sure, but it feels—“

“Familiar.” 

“Familiar,” Tubbo repeats in confirmation. 

In tandem the two both turn to continue looking around the room. Tommy drifts back towards the bed he woke up on, sleek black discs catching his attention. He reaches for them, only to have his trembling hands knock them to the floor. 

They hit the wood with an audible clatter. Tubbo turns to meet his wide-eyed expression with one of his own before rapid footsteps can be heard through the walls. 

_His_ _feet slapped against the ground, sending shockwaves up his legs. His lungs ached and his vision was fading, blood rushing loudly in his ears, but he could still hear them—_

Tubbo makes it to him as the door flies open, hitting the wall jarringly. They both flinch, and Tubbo shoves them into a corner, Tommy behind him. 

The world began to detach from Tommy, and he emptily took note of them crowd of people in the doorway. A lot of them are tall, and one has pink hair. He hasn’t see pink that vibrant in—when was it again? He can’t remember. 

His legs go numb and he slides to the floor, knees pressing solidly against his chest. Tubbo, ever reliable, follows suit, still pressing Tommy behind him. 

Distantly, he hears someone speak, and Tubbo return with an answer. That was weird, normally they don’t talk to them. Normally, they—

_An unholy wail pierced his ears and he nearly cried. He hasn’t slept in days, please just let him sleep—_

Just watch and chatter to each other in garbled noises. Tommy frowns—who speaks in garbled noises? 

The noise in the background seems to grow louder, past the point of comfort and his skin is crawling again.  _Mellohi_ pushes past his lips, the haunting tune vibrating his chest. 

Almost immediately, the chatter closest to him stops and  _Cat_ replaces it. He closes his eyes, slowly rocking himself soothingly to the clashing tones of their humming. Slowly, all other noise dies down and the only thing left is their weaving symphony. 

He reaches for Tubbo, who grabs hold of his hand and begins rocking in synch with him. The floor creaks steadily under them and it’s a welcoming sound to his ears. 

_Water dripped unsteadily somewhere off to the side, pinging loudly against the unforgiving stone._

Eventually he can feel the world slip back it, and it’s like turning up the brightness on his communicator. 

His communicator? That’s important, isn’t it? Why didn’t he have it, he needs it to tell them. They need to find them. His communicator can do that, where is—

“Tommy?” 

And,  _oh_ — he hasn’t heard that voice in—how long? In a while, he’s sure. It’s melodic in an echoing sense, memories he didn’t remember he had weaving into his brain, songs other than  _Mellohi_ and  _Cat_ bouncing around his mind. 

He looks up and is struck with a thought, something about putting down roots when he’s dead, when a name hits him. It fumbles in his mouth, clumsy with being forgotten. 

“Wil?” 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello lads, i wrote this chapter mostly at 1:30 am and then in my current issues class, so sorry if its a bit wonky. please enjoy regardless:)
> 
> also, i know yall have no idea whats going on because i barely have any idea whats going on, but if you have like a little trope or idea or scene, etc. that you want me to write in just lmk! i would be happy to do so!!

Wilbur feels like he could cry. Hell, he probably is. He can't believe it—really, he can't. If it weren't for the panicked and half-empty looks Tubbo and Tommy were sending him, he would be across the room, hugging them. 

When the world had glitched and jerked slightly to the left, everyone had frozen for a moment. Last time that had happened, well—the sever was suddenly much quieter than it had ever been before. 

Then, out of the blue, there they were. Standing on Prime Path or Path of Primes or some other silly name that Tommy had come up with, one that he honestly could not remember in the moment. There they were, staring ahead at nothing, hand in hand. 

Now here they are, Tommy looking almost completely checked-out from the world and Tubbo looks like he’ll attack the moment someone moves. Concern coils in Wilbur’s gut at the sight of them, a wrongness blanketing the situation. 

“Hey, Tubbo,” he says as if he were talking to a spooked animal. He takes a slow step forward. 

Tubbo inhales sharply, doing what almost looks like baring his teeth. If it weren’t for the way his lower lip quivered, Wilbur would have half a mind to be scared.

“Back up,” the smaller brunette says unsteadily. “Don’t come closer.”

When Wilbur immediately obliges, Tubbo looks overwhelmingly relieved, if not a bit confused. But he no longer looks like he’ll snap at a moments notice. 

There’s a distressed grunt behind him, and then Wilbur hears a very jarring “What the fuck?” Even he flinches a bit. Turning around, he’s met with his other brother. Techo looks enraged and lost. 

“Who the fuck did this to our little brother?” 

Wilbur and Phil make eye contact over Techo’s shoulder, and the brunette is almost sure the look in Phil’s eyes in mirrored in his own. 

“We don’t know, Techno,” Wilbur tries to say as placating as possible.

The piglin hybrid growls in response. “Then lets find out who so I can rip them limb from limb.” 

“Techno!” Phil scolds. 

“What?” He whirls on their father. “Don’t act like you don’t want to hurt someone for this!” 

Wilbur shivers—he and Techo have been brothers for over a decade, yet every time the pinkette goes deathly serious, voice holding waves of emotion without raising a single pitch, he can’t help but feel a sort of fear run through him. 

He’s about to respond, to open his mouth and say  of course  he wants to beat the shit out of someone for doing this, but the humming of  _Mellohi_ fills the room once more. Looking over, he sees Tommy with his eyes closed, lightly rocking himself back and forth. Not even a second later, Tubbo joins in with  _Cat_ ,  grabbing Tommy’s outstretched hand in his own. They rock together, seemingly taking comfort from the creaking floor. 

"Tommy?" He says softly. He can’t help it. There's still a glazed look to the blonde's eyes—even now, two days later—that he can't stand to look at any longer.

There's some sort of vague recognition in Tommy's eyes, his mouth moving to words he can't hear. 

Then, the most beautiful thing comes out of his brother's mouth: "Wil?" 

There are tears on Wilbur's face now and there's nothing he can do to stop them. Techno's shaky breathing echoes behind him, accompanied by the shifting of the other members of the sever—ever since the two boys had come back, no ones left the house. 

"Yeah." His voice cracks halfway through the word. "Yeah, Toms, it's me." 

"Wilbur," Tommy says again, sounding like he's trying to convince himself. 

Tubbo hums low in his throat. "Wilbur," he repeats, almost like a confirmation. 

Wilbur takes a step forward. One slow, long stride that takes him halfway across the room. The action has Tubbo tensing again, faster than any of them are prepared for, and he shoves himself further in front of Tommy. 

A confused noise worms its way out of Tommy's worn throat, and Tubbo responds with more humming. The constant buzz soon turns into  _Mellohi_ , only now Tubbo's conducting the song. 

There's a pregnant pause as the blonde closes his eyes and listens to the tune intently. The rooms holds it's breath as they watch him sway to the music before opening his eyes, the clouds in them dissipating. It's Tommy's turn to hum now, and it's  _Cat_.  A grin cracks at the edge of his lips. 

All the tension seems to seep out of Tubbo in under a second and he falls back onto Tommy, who's already waiting with open arms. A series of unintelligible mumbles begin to fly between the two. 

Wilbur, and everyone else in the room, he's fairly certain, has no idea what he just witnessed. The two have never been this quiet for this long, and the constant humming is honestly setting him on edge. 

Now, don't get him wrong: Wilbur knows a coping mechanism when he sees one, but it's the context he doesn't understand. Why humming? Why the different responses to each song? Why the  quiet ? 

He turns to face the rest of the group. Phil, Techno, Dream, and almost anyone else he can think of are standing in the doorway behind him, matching looks of bewilderment and concern etched into the lines of their faces. 

"What...what was that?" Sapnap whispers, seemingly afraid to break the blanket of quiet that has settled over the room. 

Wilbur opens his mouth to respond, but it's Techno who beats him to the punch. 

"Trauma," the hybrid says bluntly. 

And, well, yeah. Wilbur can't help but agree, even if his brother's statement was much more straightforward than his planned to be. 

George shuffles around in the back of the crowd. "What happened?" 

"Nothing nice," Dream responds grimly. "Look at them." 

All eyes turn back to the boys in the corner, still curled around each other in what looks to be a self-induced coma; their breathing is light and shallow, chests are the the only things that's moving. Not even the twitch of an eyelid. 

But then Wilbur looks, really  looks , and sees what the masked man is talking about. Apart from the obvious pallor and bandages around their necks, scars can be counted in droves across their skin. Small ones litter their hands, especially, while bigger, thicker ones can be seen curling from under the hems of necklines and sleeves. And if he looks close, really close, he can seen some on the boys' face: a nick on the cheek, a pale line on the jaw. But there's more. There are— _god_. 

There are little dots, crude in size and placement, speckling the boys' lips.

Wilbur can pinpoint the exact moment everyone else sees them. The varying noises of distress that fill the room make for a good indicator. 

“Are those—“ Eret starts to ask, but trails off as if they aren’t sure whether or not they actually want the answer. 

Phil swallows heavily. “Yeah. Yeah, they are.” 

“Oh, those poor kids.” Bad makes a wounded noise. “That explains the quiet. Or part of it, at least.” 

Dream makes a noise of agreement. “And the humming.” 

Wilbur takes a moment to think about it. Not too deeply, no—he’ll start crying again if he does that. But he does think about it. No talking equals the need for new forms of communication. Case and point: humming. 

But that doesn’t explain the pure, almost animalistic fear that blooms in Tubbo’s eyes when someone so much as moves. It doesn’t explain Tommy’s detached looks and Tubbo’s need to protect him. It doesn’t explain the multitude of other scars or the almost entire year they were gone. 

There’s a lot Wilbur doesn’t know, and he plans to figure it all out. But one thing’s for sure:

He’s going to  _kill_ whoever hurt these kids. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yall why do i keep writing entire chapters in my classes. my algebra teacher was like do you know how to do this and i was like yeah :D and then i failed the quiz so—
> 
> ANYWAYS enjoy the chapter, im really cranking these suckers out :)) im gonna keep going at it until writers block hits again.

Tubbo is confused. To be fair, he's been confused for the past—how long has it been? He could never tell in—

_The Darkness was overwhelming. It seeped into his eyes and his nose and his ears. He couldn't breath, please let him out—_

Whatever world he and Tommy had ended up in. But he's confused right now because there's a bee flitting aimlessly outside the window, and he wants to cry. There are people that he doesn't quite recognize but aren't completely strangers standing across the room and he wants to cry over a bee. 

So he does. It starts as a small hiccup in his lungs that turns to a lump in his throat that turns into teary eyes. Then, in one big swoop of emotion, the sob cracks from his chest and spills from his lungs. 

Tommy is, understandably, concerned almost immediately. Tubbo hasn't cried since around the beginning, when they first found each other. 

_There was a splash of yellow and red between the trees. Everything looked like the Darkness but not that. Not him._

The blonde places his hands on Tubbo's cheeks, looking into his eyes. Calloused fingers wipe under his eyes, trying to clear the tears. 

"What's wrong?" His voice his so quiet that even Tubbo has to lean in to hear him. "Is it coming back?" 

Other people still chatter in the background and for the first time in—in  so long, Tubbo can't find it within himself to care. He laughs.  _Laughs_ . 

His voice breaks when he speaks, and his little grin is hurting his cheeks. "Tommy—Tommy there's a  _bee_ ." 

Tommy looks up over his shoulder to the window, and Tubbo can see the moment he spots the bee. His mouth parts a little in surprise and his shoulders drop. 

"Oh.  _Oh_ ." 

And then Tommy's laughing softly too. It's different from his old laugh, the one that was more of a scream than a laugh, but it's still a laugh nonetheless. 

"I never thought I'd be this happy to see a fucking bee." Tommy's voice is hoarse and it might be from tears or his neck but Tubbo doesn't care. 

Then that age old instincts in humans kicks in and the hairs on the back of Tubbos neck stand on end. He can feel eyes boring into him—

_Always watching. Watching, watching, watching—_

From across the room. He whips his head to the side and stares intently at the people standing there. There's several of them: Wilbur, they identified. He's familiar, especially to Tommy. Then there's someone with pink hair—he has an aura around him that Tubbo recognizes but he's not sure why—and a man with a bucket hat and wings. There’s someone with sunglasses, who towers over everyone else, and behind them, there’s three people: one with a bandana, one with white goggles, and one with a round smiley-face mask. In the very back, someones standing. Tubbo can't really see them.Then they shift around the smiley-face man and Tubbo's blood runs cold. 

_White eyes, white eyes in the Dark staring at him—_

_A screech echoed around the building and he gripped the hand in his—_

_His heart hammered in his chest, he couldn't breath. They surrounded him, closer and closer and closerclosercloser—_

"Tubbo—" Tommy gasps, grasping at the brunette. His voice is quiet, a barely-there whisper. 

Tubbo shushes him frantically, not wanting the creature to be alerted of their presence more than it already has. He starts humming  _Mellohi_ under his breath, hoping that will quiet the blonde. Danger means silence; silence means danger. 

Tommy presses his lips together into a thin line, closing his eyes. His entire body is trembling. Tubbo doesn't blame him either—what Tommy told him about before he arrived was enough to give him nightmares, forget living through it. 

_Dark, dark, dark. It was so suffocating, please—_

Tubbo, as confused and disoriented and terrified as he is at the moment, is at least aware. He knows that Tommy is not okay, especially not mentally. Physically, they're in the same boat—scars will tell you that much. But with the way Tommy's taken to disassociating any time he's triggered, Tubbo has to be there. He wasn't before, but he is now. 

Making sure his eyes never leave the white-eyed creature, Tubbo pulls Tommy around him. The blonde lays half in Tubbo's lap, face tucked into the shorter boy's shirt. He firmly places his hands over Tommy's ears in case the screaming starts up—there isn't much more room for scars to form behind the taller teen's ears. 

Tubbo's not sure why everyone else is just standing around this creature like it's not there. Maybe they can't see it. But by the way the pink-haired one keeps shifting his gaze between him and the creature, maybe it's something more. 

Regardless, he doesn't want it here. Especially not near Tommy. 

His first attempt at the whistle is scratchy and cracked. He licks his lips, eyes still never leaving the thing across the room and tries again. This time, he gets the right pitch; it's high enough that it hurts his throat to make, but with the way the white-eyed creature flinches and covers its ears, Tubbo got it right. 

Weirdly enough, the man resembling a pig also doubles over, a low whine escaping him as Tubbo's whistle filters through his ears. 

Whatever the reason, Tubbo's just glad the thing here and the things There respond to the sound the same.

_It screamed, ugly and piercing, before returning to the darkness, a hollow feeling left in its wake._

Hopefully everything else holds true. He wasn't religious before, he's pretty sure, but after There, Tubbo definitely isn't. Yet he prays it’s the same.

“Tubbo.” He flinches when the creature grunts his name. “Tubbo, stop. Please.” 

The whistle cuts off with a choked noise. They’ve never said ‘please’ before. They’ve never really spoken, either. Through all the begging and pleading and crying, they’ve never spoken to them. 

He stares wide-eyed at the creature. How is he—why— _what?_

Tommy shifts in his lap. The humming of  _Cat_ flows, muffled by the brunette’s shirt. There’s a questioning lilt to it; Tommy wants to know if he stopped whistling because it’s safe. 

Absentmindedly, Tubbo strokes the blonde’s hair. The action calms both of them, and Tommy falls silent again. 

_He gently petted the other’s hair as he shuddered through a silent sob. Please be quiet, he thought, they can’t hear you. You knew what happened when they did._

The silence from the rest of the rooms is stifling. Everyone stares at him as he stares at the two rubbing their temples. Why is it acting so  _human?_ Why is it rubbing its temples like it has a headache when Tubbo has had his ears bleed from them? 

“Why are you staring at Bad like that?” The smiley-face man asks defensively. 

Tubbo opens his mouth, then closes it, then opens it again. “Bad?” His tongue feels clumsy around the word. It has a name? Friends? 

Bad. Bad? Bad—

BadBoyHalo. 

_Oh._

_“Tubbo! The house looks good—_ “

_It screamed, loud and unholy. He sobbed and—_

_Bad smiled, giving him a thumbs-up—_

_He could feel blood seeping out of the wound, its claws—_

_“You silly Muffin! Don’t forgot to eat! Here, have some—“_

The pounding in Tubbo’s head builds to a crescendo, and he can feel more tears building in his eyes. What the fuck is going on? His head hurts and his lungs hurt and his heart hurts and he can’t breathe. A wheezing gasp pulls itself from his chest, and he claws at it. The darkness creeping into his vision does nothing to calm his rising panic. 

Tommy sits up suddenly at his labored breathing. “Tubbo?” When the brunette doesn’t answer, he takes Tubbo’s face in his hands again. “It’s okay, Tubbo, you’re okay. Just breathe and the darkness will go away, yeah?” 

A shuddering breath is pulled into Tubbo’s chest, rattling down into his lungs. Tommy nods at him encouragingly, taking an exaggerated breath with him. 

Tubbo spends the next blur of time breathing in tandem with Tommy, and by the time he can breathe easily, he’s  _exhausted_.  He blinks heavily and leans more into Tommy’s hands. 

The blonde gently rubs his thumbs along Tubbo’s cheekbones, soothing him. “Go to sleep, Tubbo, I’ve got you.” 

A few notes of  _Cat_ tiredly burn themselves into the air between them, and Tubbo closes his eyes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uh,, idk how much i liked this chapter. i kinda do and i kinda dont :// lmk how yall feel about it and dont be afraid to give criticism. pls be nice tho i might cry if youre not. 
> 
> anyways if you were wondering the scars behind tommy’s ears are from him gripping them too hard while trying to block out the monsters’ screaming :)
> 
> ngl i barely have any fucking clue what im writing or where it’s going but pls lmk if you have any questions!! ill try and answer them the best i can :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello all!! please enjoy this chapter that is almost double the length of a normal chapter. i will be using this chapter to answer any questions you may have or ideas to theories if you wish to share. now, i can't give away too much, but i will give some hints and clues, and i will let you know if your theory is correct!!
> 
> please note that i did not read over this very thoroughly. lmk if there's any mistakes :))

Tommy wasn't quite sure where he was. It was dark. And Cold. Really cold, actually. He shivered in his short-sleeved shirt and spun around slowly. Dead trees loomed above him and the ground crunched as he moved. Off in the distance was what looked to be a building, possibly—or maybe a wall. 

What was he doing here? How did he get here? Where was _here_ , exactly? There was a sense of familiarity in these woods, to a degree. He turned to face the structure off in the distance. Also familiar. Why? 

He shrugged his shoulders up to his ears, rubbing his hands along his exposed arms. End, it was cold. Maybe he could find a coat somewhere up ahead, he wasn't sure how long he could last without a coat. 

_"Tommy! There's a be_ e!"

His steps faltered and he nearly tripped. Who's voice was that? It sounded warm. It wasn't until it faded from his face that Tommy realized he had been smiling. He pushed a hand through his hair, grimacing at the dirt that came out. 

Electing to ignore the chattering of his teeth, Tommy continued on towards the wall, mulling over that voice. Was it a memory? Maybe a hallucination. But it made him feel weird and warm inside, in a decidedly very unmanly way. 

He wanted to hear it again. 

Something cracked off to his side and he froze. It sounded like wood breaking. Maybe it was someone who could tell him where the fuck he was. 

"Hello?" Tommy called, blaming the waver in his voice on the cold. No response. He huffed in annoyance. "Come on, asshat! Don't ignore me!" 

When no response or other sound presented itself, Tommy turned back to the path, grumbling under his breath. 

The rest of the walk was uneventful and Tommy spent it thinking. Again, where the fuck was he? Where were other people? Who was the voice in his memories? How did he get here? He groaned at the thoughts whirling around his head, along with the fact that his fingers were starting to go numb. 

With the thought of starting a fire jumping around in his brain, Tommy didn't realize he had made it to the wall until he ran into it. It knocked him back and he fell onto the icy ground. 

He glared at the wall. "Fuckin' bitch." 

It gave no response. 

Looking up at the structure, he felt small as it loomed over him. Made out of dark material and several times taller than himself, Tommy really felt insignificant next to it. Weirdly enough, though, there was a sense of pride blooming in his chest. It was small, barely noticeable, but Tommy felt it looking at the wall. 

_Why?_ Was this wall important to him? Did it relate to the voice in his head? Tommy frowned; that made him sound batshit crazy. Well, maybe he was. He felt like it. 

Deciding to worry about it later, when he hopefully wasn't freezing his ass off, Tommy turned to look down the length of the wall. He didn't see any type of entrance to his right, but he could see where the wall ended. To his left, there was also no entrance, but the wall seemed to expand into a nothingness. There was a fog Tommy hadn't noticed before, thick and swirling. It cut off his vision and made him nervous to look at. 

Sighing, he looked around, hopeful of something to help him over the wall. The only things around were trees, which seemed to match the height of the wall. For what appeared to be pine trees, their branches were very wide, spanning out bigger than any tree Tommy had ever seen. 

An idea formed in his mind and Tommy almost grinned at how stupid it was, if not for the cold making his face feel like stone. If he were here—

_"Tommy! That's dangerous! You're gonna hurt yourself and then Wil will be made at me!"_

Tommy choked on his breath, staring at it as it came out in a big puff. He? Who was He? And who was Wil? Were they important? It felt like it. Both people seemed to pull at something in his chest, making his heart hurt. It felt like he missed them. But he couldn't remember them!

He rubbed a hand across his face and flinched at how cold they were against his cheeks. More worrisome, though, was the fact that he couldn't feel his cheeks beneath his fingers. Tommy ran them over his braces just to be sure, but nothing registered in his fingertips. 

_Fuck._ Oh, End, oh fuck. That was bad. 

Glancing at the trees, he made up his mind as he uselessly shook out his hands. The first grab he made at a low branch fucking sucked. His fingers felt like they were cracking as they tried to wrap around the branch. Tommy hissed and let go, lightly flexing his fingers--he barely had any range of motion. He needed to warm them up. 

Tommy sat down at the base of the tree, curling his knees to his chest. He pulled his arms through the sleeves of his shirt, whining at how cold it was against his stomach. Placing his hands flat on his abdomen was almost infinitely worse. They were so cold they burned the soft skin there. Tommy groaned but forced them to stay there, curling around his hands and stomach. 

Once the burning died down, he began to rub his hands over his stomach and across each other, trying to create as much friction as possible. Eventually, he could just barely feel the drag of fingernails across the back of his hands, and he nearly cried with relief. He could curl his hands into loose fists now—although it still hurt—enough to grab onto a branch. 

He uncurled himself, stiff muscles aching. Grabbing the tree, he pulled himself up off the ground, then took a deep breath and continued to pull himself up. His shoulders and knees protested greatly at the movement, but his hands didn't fail him. The faint stinging in his hands probably meant they were bleeding, but Tommy didn't have it in him to check at the moment, nor care that much. 

_"Dumbass, you need to take better care of yourself. How are we supposed to run a nation together otherwise?"_

Tommy's grip on the tree faltered, and he tipped backward for a second before scrambling for a better grip. His heart hammered in his ribcage and it wasn't just from the momentary scare. 

Who the fuck were these people in his head? Why does he keep hearing them and why does his heart hurt every time? Does he somehow miss some people _that_ much? 

He was too lost in thought to notice that he was absently staring at the top of the wall until a harsh gust of wind nearly knocked him out of the tree. 

"Holy fucking— _fuck!_ " He blindly grabbed at the tree in a panic. His hand was definitely cut, as the snow resting on the tree was turning pink.

Hissing in contempt he turned to face the wall again. If he had the balls, he could probably stretch himself horizontally across the gap between him and the structure and be able to touch both the tree and the wall. But he doesn't, and that would be impractical. Instead, he gauged the about six feet between him and the structure, thought 'fuck it', and jumped.

His 'fuck it' immediately turned to 'oh, End, oh fuck' as the landing rushed at him. He knew he should land in a roll to reduced the impact, but the connection between his brain and frozen muscles didn't seem to be working. So when he hit the top of the wall, shockwaves of pain rippled up his legs, feeling like stabbing needles in his shins. 

Tommy immediately collapsed into the layer of snow coating the walkway and groaned. He would be surprised if he didn't acquire fractures from that. He laid there for quite some time, suddenly very tired from the events of his day. A thin layer of snow began to coat him softly, almost like a blanket. Sure, a shitty, cold blanket, but a blanket nonetheless. 

_"I know you're tired kiddo, but stay awake for a bit longer, okay? I'm getting too old to carry your lanky ass."_

Humming an apology to the voice, Tommy allowed the wave of exhaustion to swallow him against his better judgment. The edges of his awareness started to fuzz and his body began to feel warm in his tired haze. The last tendrils of consciousness drew away from him and Tommy fell into a slumber, dark and restless. 

The scream that woke him up chilled him to his bones. He jolted into awareness although his body was slow to follow. Tommy cursed himself for falling asleep--in the frigid weather, especially. He rubbed his eyes only to grimace at the little crystals of ice that had encased his eyelashes, making it hard to look for the source of the scream. 

Shadows seemed to flit at the edges of Tommy's vision and he couldn't help but flinch away from them. They moved silently and sharply, darting in and out of his peripheral before disappearing completely. Not a single noise was made the entire time but Tommy felt as if the world was screaming at him. Maybe it was the blood rushing through his ears or his breath heaving in his lungs, but everything seemed so utterly deafening. 

Tommy scrambled to his feet, looking around wildly. The adrenaline coursing through him right now wouldn't let him sit still. He hobbled along the length of the wall he was on, ignoring the dull ache in his legs. Below him, inside the wall, was a sprawling of buildings and paths. On the other side of the wall, a castle loomed in the distance. Other buildings were also scattered outside the wall, all of it tugging at Tommy's mind. The scene before him was so painfully familiar he was tempted to cry. But _why_ , for fuck's sake, was it so familiar? Who were the voices and smiles and laughs that tugged at his heart and mind and what was this End-forsaken place that made him feel so at home he was lost? 

A shuddering breath caught in his throat and Tommy choked on it. He was scared, _goddammit._ He was just a kid--as much as he hated to admit it sometimes--and he was alone and lost and he had no _fucking_ clue what was going on. Tommy just wanted his--his--his what? He wanted something so very badly but he just couldn't remember what it was; it was warm and safe, he knew that--the exact opposite of how he felt right now, freezing cold and scared out of his damn mind. 

Sucking in a large breath that rattled into his lungs, Tommy shook himself. As small as he felt right now, he was still a big man and no one was there to take care of him but himself. He scanned the wall, looking for a way down, and found one on the wall adjacent to him. A thin ladder connected the walkway and the ground, not looking sturdy in the slightest. But, it was his only option besides jumping off the wall, and Tommy knew his chances of surviving were practically zero. 

After the arduous walk from where he was to the ladder, Tommy stared down at it, anxiety curling in his gut. What if it broke? What if those--those things attacked him while he was on the ladder. Looking up, night seeming to be settling over the land, which confused Tommy as it was dark when he first woke up here. The darkness was getting darker, it seemed. He looked back down at the later and braced himself--it was now or never. 

Halfway down the ladder, Tommy wished he had gone with 'never.' Each gust of wind shook the ladder violently, drawing a screaming creak from the wood. He was pretty sure his heart had stopped several times already and he was still fifteen feet from the ground. Gritting his teeth, Tommy closed his eyes tightly and continued on his way down the hell-ladder. 

By the time he reached the ground his hands hurt not only from onset frostbite but also from gripping the old wood tightly enough to embed frozen splinters into his palms. Whatever, things were shitty already--wouldn't want to end the streak there. His knees shook and ached as well, an ever-constant reminder of another shitty thing. 

Tommy turned from the ladder and looked around. There were small houses scattered about, windows dark and chimneys cold, along with what looked to be a van with a...hotdog on it? Alright, cool, whatever. 

_"Do you want to sell drugs with me, Tommy?"_

What the _fuck?_ What kind of people did he know? Weird ones, apparently. 

He began walking around the small town, trying to find anywhere to stay. Weirdly enough, all of the doors seemed to be locked, and Tommy couldn't see in any of the windows. Clucking in disappointment, Tommy continued down the worn path, periodically glancing between houses to see if any were different. Eventually, his feet slowed to a stop without him really thinking about it. He squinted to get a better look at the building. It was different from the others in the sense that it was worn down, dancing on the edge of dilapidated. There were cracks in the windows and scuff marks on the doors, almost like someone would kick it open rather than use the handle like a normal person. Above the door, there was a sign. Slightly cracked and worn but still a sign. Tommy leaned in to read the faded words:

**"Tubbo's House :D"**

For a second all Tommy did was stare. Tubbo? Who was Tubbo?

Then he remembered. 

_"Tommy let's go watch the sunset, we have--"_

_"Stop kicking my door open, use the handle, you--"_

_"Bees? Pog! I love bees! Did you know they--"_

_"Let's go on an adventure today, I'm bored--"_

_"Tommy, there's something wrong. Everything feels--"_

_"Tommy! Tommy, where are you, I can't--"_

Tommy was on the ground, heaving. When did he--where--how--Tubbo. Where was Tubbo? Acidic bile rose in Tommy's throat, reminding him of his lack of food. He heaved again, spitting out nothing. His frame shuddered as he pulled himself to his feet, practically falling across the threshold into Tubbo's house. It was slightly warmer, and there was now snow on the ground. The lack of cold air biting at his cheeks and nose had him sighing in relief, slumping against a wall. Looking up, he took note of the things in the small structure: a crafting table, two furnaces, and a white bed. Tommy sighed and closed his eyes--he could work with this, he could definitely work with this. 

When he opened his eyes again, he was met with the gaping maw of a shadow. Its white eyes stared directly into his, an almost human-like intelligence in them, flawed only by the feral glint. 

It opened it's mouth and wailed. 

Tommy screamed too. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you haven't guess already, the place tommy was taken to is basically an upside-down l'manburg, for all my stranger things fans. i am ever so slightly inspired by the show. 
> 
> in my drafts, i have this titled "author takes creative liberties with the layout of l'manburg" clearly, i need to do light world-building so i used l'manburg as my base and went from there. 
> 
> and for a timeline, im not really sure when this takes place. they've obviously fought for independence and such and won it, but after than i have no clue. its all up for grabs. 
> 
> anyways hope you enjoyed and please leave me any questions if you have them.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!TW: talk of blood and cauterizing of a wound. Slightly descriptive talks of violence!!
> 
> !!CW: mention of forced human mutation!! (idk if that counts, im not too sure how to tag TW vs CW. pls lmk if i need to add or fix anything.)
> 
> i talk about code at some point in the story, and as someone who knows next to nothing about code, it's probably all bullshit. pls ignore and move on. 
> 
> enjoy 2.5k words of me basically info-dumping.

Although no one really assumes otherwise, Techno isn't stupid. He's a warrior, a strategist, and a damn good tracker. There's a reason Technoblade never dies. 

(That's a lie.) 

His only downfall is people. Social situations. Emotions, especially. Which is why he's here now, staring at his little brother and his best friend, who both look like they've been to hell and back, bearing the scars to prove it, and having no idea what to do. 

Almost everyone else has left the room after Tubbo fell asleep against Tommy, having decided that they needed to rest rather than be prodded for answers they clearly don't—or can't—want to give. They could see it in the boys' demeanor and actions; the stilted breaths and skittering eyes. So they left, with promises to be back if they need or want anything and to just give a shout. 

Techno isn't sure if they're capable of giving a shout, whether it be physically or mentally. 

Tommy is staring at him over Tubbo, eyes jumping around in a way Techno recognizes as risk assessing. His eyes flick from Techno to the door to the window back to Techno, then to the floor, the ceiling, and repeat. 

"What are you lookin' for?" Techno asks, wincing—that came out more blunt than he meant for it to be. 

His younger brother stares back at him, eyes wide. They're still the same shade of blue they've always been, as far back as Techno can remember. But they're not the sparkling, innocent, eyes of a child that used to giggle and dance around his feet, demanding " _up!_ " They're dull and slightly panicked, hardened by nightmares. 

Tommy swallows. "Them." 

Techno hums in thought, surprised to see Tommy relax slightly at the noise. "Who are 'Them'?"

"The monsters. Shadows. They scream."

A shudder tears its way through Techno, a sense of dread creeping in. That sounds familiar, unnervingly so. 

"Was it dark?" He asks with bated breath. 

Tommy nods, inhaling sharply. 

"And cold?"

Tommy nods, a tremor starting in his hands. 

"Almost familiar?"

Tommy nods, his breath becoming shaky. 

Techno closes his eyes, and wills himself not to cry. He hasn't cried in a long time, but his baby brother was _there_. End, he was _There._ He was stuck in that freezing hell of a world, with those nightmares. He didn't know what it looked like for Tommy, but for him, it was the house he grew up in; Phil's house, where he, Wilbur, and Tommy laughed and screamed and cried and sparred and grew up. Techno watched Wilbur and Tommy grow up there, and now he can't go back without thinking about unholy screaming and ear-shattering wails. Sometimes, for a split second, he looks at his brothers and sees white eyes and gaping maws. 

Tommy's trembling and Techno remembers that Tommy had only been out of that world for maybe two days, and he's been conscious for 2 hours of his freedom. He takes a slow step forward, not surprised when his brother tenses. A hum starts low in his throat, slowing moving to a rumble in his chest. His brother blinks in surprise, slowly relaxing again. Techno ignores the burn in his eyes in favor of remembering when Tommy was young and couldn't sleep, so he'd come and lay on Techno to listen to his rumble. 

"It's okay," he starts, feeling a little awkward, "you're goin' to be okay." 

He takes another step forward, still rumbling, and is pleasantly surprised when Tommy doesn't flinch away or tense up again. Instead, the boy leans towards him as he steps into Tommy's personal space. He awkwardly situates himself on the bed next to his brother, desperately trying to remember what Phil told him about comforting people. Make them feel safe? Protected? Cared about? Something like that? Regardless of his unsureness, Techno accepts his brother's fall into his arms, and by extension, Tubbo. 

"How you doin', kiddo?" The childhood name slips out before Techno can stop it. 

Tommy hums, leaning further into Techno. "Confused," he states simply. "Cold." 

As if on cue, a shiver wracks Tommy's body, and Techno is suddenly very aware of just how thin his brother is—Tubbo too. He can practically feel every bone shaking with the chill, rattling like a skeleton. 

"Yeah, you'll feel like that for a while." He wraps his arms around the two kids just a bit tighter. "It'll take a while for everyone's names to come back to you and for your memories to get clear."

A noncommittal noise worms it's way out of Tommy, and he leans further into Techno, mumbling something he doesn't quite catch. 

"What'd you say?" 

"Warm," Tommy practically slurs, eyes drooping. "'nd familiar. Wil too." 

Techno fails to hold back the small smile cracking on his lips. "Yeah, we're your brothers. Even if you don't remember my name yet, we grew up together. Since you were a little kid." 

Tommy's silent for a moment, eyebrows furrowing it what appears to be concentration. Eventually, he says, very quietly, "Techno?"

He'll never admit it to anyone, ever, but Techno understands why Wilbur started crying when Tommy said his name; tears prick at his eyes and he swallows a shaky breath. 

"Yeah, kid, you got it." He gives Tommy a quick squeeze that he hopes comes off as comforting. "Do you remember our dad?" His brother thinks for a moment before shaking his head, a frown pulling at his lips. "That's okay, don't feel bad. You'll remember eventually." 

Techno watches as Tommy fights back the exhaustion that's clearly plaguing him. He runs his hand through the younger's hair, hoping it will work like it did when they were kids. The moment anyone played with Tommy's hair, it would knock him out. Clearly, Tubbo knows, as Techno watched him calm Tommy with it earlier. 

"You can sleep if you're tired, Toms. You'll be safe here." 

Hearing that, Tommy looks like he's on the verge of tears, tense muscles relaxing so much that he becomes practically limp in Techno's hold. He asks if Techno promises, and the elder can't do anything but fiercely agree, believing it with his whole being. 

After twenty minutes pass, and Techno is sure his brother and Tubbo will stay asleep, he gently maneuvers himself out from under them, leaving his heavy cape draped over their sleeping forms. He takes a moment to stare at the two, taking in how young they are, even if most telltale signs are gone; their skin isn't smooth and their eyes aren't bright, cheeks far too skinny to be healthy instead of the childish glow that comes from full cheeks. They didn't deserve to go through that, they were just kids. 

(Never mind that he was the same age.)

Sighing, he turns and exits the room. The hallway is dark and he can't help but want to shy away from it after the conversation he just had. Normally, he'd fidget with his cloak but he let it with the boys so he's stuck wringing his hands together. 

The living room is thankfully much brighter than the hallway, and Techno can't help but sigh in relief. Or maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe both. 

No one was looking at him as he entered, so he grunts softly to get their attention, too tired to put much effort into it. Everyone turns almost immediately, and upon taking in his fidgeting and ears flat against his head, Phil and Wilbur want to know what's wrong. 

"Do you—do you remember when I was 16 and I, uh—" his voice catches in his throat— " _went away?_ " His voice goes weak and raspy, as it always does when he talks about _There_. 

Wilbur jolts like he's been shocked. He was only 14 then, when Techno disappeared, about to turn 15. He turned 15 while Techno was gone. Techno's not sure, but he doesn't think they celebrated that birthday, and he doesn't know whether that makes him feel better or not. 

Phil's shoulders slump and curl around themselves as if an ache is forming in his chest. Techno's never had a kid, nor does he really plan to, but if losing a child to that place hurts just as much as losing a brother, he understands. End, does he understand. 

Tommy was almost too young to remember it. At six, all he knew was that his brother went away for a few months and came back sad. That's what they told him. Techno doesn't regret that either—Tommy didn't need to know about the nightmares that rattled around his head at night and plagued his days. 

Look where that got them. Where it got him. 

"Are you sure?" Phil's voice wavers, ever so slightly. 

Techno nods and Wilbur makes a wounded noise, not that Techno blames him. Wilbur was the one who would stay with him at night and hold him through the terror that clung to him like a second skin. He'd sit up at ungodly hours and braid his hair over and over until Techno fell asleep again. Then he'd hold him when he woke up not even two hours later, fear rattling him to the bone. 

The others in the room are obviously confused, looking lost at their conversation. Techno picks up on it and sighs again, turning to them. 

"There's this place that I went to—I'm not sure where it is, exactly, or how I got there. But it's dark all the time. And it's cold. Really cold. It's a place that's familiar to you, or important. For me it was our childhood home, I don't know about Tommy. There are these—these _things._ Shadows, kinda. They hunt you and they scream all the time and it's so loud. They make your ears bleed. They have white eyes and a huge mouth. They only leave you alone if you can get to a certain frequency." Techno looks around, eyes landing on Bad. He's pretty sure if Bad didn't have black skin, he would've been as pale as a ghost. 

Bad shudders and sits down from where he was standing next to Dream. The masked man leans down and puts a hand on his shoulder, quietly asking if he's okay. 

"Yeah, yeah. It's just—" he sighs, suddenly, looking more tired than Techno had ever seen him. "It's this place. There are several names for it." Bad makes a series of high-pitched, garbled sounds that have Techno flinching harder than he has in a while, the noises echoing of screams. "Yeah, I know, I'm sorry. It can mean _'The Vanished_ ' or ' _The Changed.'_ Something along those lines.

"There are legends surrounding the world; it's a different plane of existence, an entirely different universe, etc. No one knows for sure, but they do know time passes differently there than it does here. It's faster, I'm not sure by how much, but ten months to us was longer to them." He turns to Techno. "To you. The theory behind the place was that someone glitched—a player, most likely—and was sent to a different server, world, dimension, whatever you want to call it, and was stuck. They went insane and changed into those monsters. They take players from stable worlds in hopes of fixing theirs, though that just ends up adding more of them."

The room sits in dead silence for a minute, processing everything they just heard. 

"How do you know this?" Phil asks, not unkindly. 

Bad shifts and seems to curl into himself. "I'm not supposed to exist," he states bluntly. "By the laws of nature, I shouldn't be here. But the village I came from, it was a...cult of some sort, I guess. They were obsessed with the idea of these beings and their world, so in an attempt to hopefully create a more compliant, slightly less hostile one to act as a guardian for the village, they hacked the code of the world and withdrew a few lines of it. When my mother was pregnant with me, they added that line of code to mine, and here I am."

He shifts again, wrapping his arms around himself in a faux-hug. Bad laughs wetly and Techno feels a pang in his chest. "But you know me, I'm too nice." This is the first time Techno thinks he's ever heard Bad laugh bitterly. "So when I was about ten and they realized I wasn't going to become any more of a fighter, they re-opened the world and tossed me in. Try and toughen me up a bit, y'know?" 

Techno can tell no one really knows how to respond to that. Dream and Sapnap and George are all leaning towards Bad, talking quietly before Dream pulls the shorter man into a hug. Even from where he's standing Techno can see the...demon(?) hybrid trembling. Phil and Wilbur look like they're in shock and Eret is staring at the ground with their fingers steepled, a troubled expression clouding their face.

The silence is borderline suffocating so Techno says the first thing that comes to mind: "You had to kill them to escape, right?" Wow, nice going, Techno. Real smooth. 

Bad nods mutely, and they share a look of understanding; killing those things isn't easy, not by a long shot. Despite being the loudest motherfuckers you'll ever encounter, they're hard to find unless they want to be found. They're fast and vicious and smart. Get one good hit on them and you'll end up with a half-slit throat and three bloody puncture wounds that you have to cauterize with your own sword to avoid infection, and death by extension. Techno knows from experience. The scars burn at the memory. 

(That wasn't the worst of it. Not even close.)

"The way I got out was by killin' the leader. Or what I thought to be the leader. It took me months to figure it out but they all seemed to follow one around, so that's the one I killed." He thinks about the scar across his belly, thick and knotted. "Nearly killed me first, though. But when it died it dropped something kinda like an ender pearl. I picked it up, but it was so _cold_ —colder than anything I've ever felt. I dropped it and it shattered, then I woke up back home." 

Eret speaks up after a heavy moment of silence. "Are they going to be okay?"

Techno thinks about the claw marks raking up his back and the slash on his throat. The icy claws that dig their way into his dreams and every waking moment. 

(That isn't something you come out "okay" from.)

Instead, he says, "Hopefully, some semblance of it, someday." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so how y'all feeling? 
> 
> tbh i feel like i forget a lot while writing this so there'll probably be a ton of loopholes and such. lol, oops.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright third times the charm. ao3 pls just let me post
> 
> idk why i havent posted this already,, ive been done for like a week. anyways,,

Floating aimlessly through an empty abyss was not something Tubbo expected to wake up to. Tubbo didn’t expect to be waking up, period. He doesn’t remember falling asleep, which now that he thought about it, doesn’t seem to be the biggest problem at hand. 

The biggest problem at hand was the fact that he was fucking  _floating through an empty abyss_.  And he didn’t know how he got there. The chill creeping in seemed to be another problem, but he really only noticed it if he thought about it. 

“Hello?” He called timidly, flinching when it echoed back at him. 

Tubbo hummed in response of his discovery, listening to it reverberate around him. His eyes scanned the darkness, looking for any change. A ripple, a distortion—anything new. 

There wasn’t one. 

The darkness stretched out in front of him forever, an inky pit of nothingness. It was dark enough that Tubbo knew his mind would start making up things to see. At least, he thought he learned that somewhere. 

Curious, he extended his feet below him, trying to see if he could stand on something. Surprisingly, he felt his feet connect with something solid, and he jolted falling backwards onto his ass. He barked out a laugh at his own clumsiness before grimacing at the echo. 

Weirdly enough, even sitting down his feet felt like they were on something solid. With much hesitance, he stood where he would imagine air to be in relation to where he thought the ground was. What the fuck? That was so freaky. 

Tubbo stood like that for a while, staring at nothing (not that there was much to stare at in the first place), trying to work out what was going on. Frankly, he couldn’t quite wrap his head around it: stuck in a...multidimensional?...dark abyss. Seemly no entrance or exit. He could walk freely but his voice echoed around like there were walls. Nothing made sense. 

Time seemed to stretch on endless and infinitely; he could’ve been standing there for two minutes or two days and it would’ve been all the same. Nothing changed. Nothing at all. Not the environment, not Tubbo. Well, not physically at least. He didn’t get hungry, he didn’t get tired—although he’s pretty sure he slept at some point, but he couldn’t tell—

_“_ _Tubbo! Have you ever pulled an all-nighter_?”

Oh. Oh, that was new. 

What was that?  Who  was that? 

“Who was that?” He said out-loud, unsure as to whether he was talking to himself or the disembodied voice. 

Nothing answered in return. Tubbo hummed in disappointment and sat down on what was probably the ceiling, originally. He clapped his hands together idly, preferring the echoes over the silence of the void. 

To the darkness he said, “Maybe I’m going insane.” It answered back with silence and the last reverbs of his clapping. “Yeah, that’s what I figured.” 

He laid flat on his back and closed his eyes. He doesn’t think he ever sleeps but sometimes it felt nice to try and do something semi-normal. Apart from the ringing that was becoming perpetual in his ears and the obvious lack of  literally  anything else, it felt pretty normal. 

But then he opened his eyes. He always had to open his eyes. 

Still empty. 

Figured. 

He missed the new voice, even if it meant he was going insane. At least he could listen to something else for a split second. 

What had it asked him? If he’d ever pulled an all-nighter? To be honest, he couldn’t quite remember. The only thing that really filled his mind nowadays was the omnipresent void that stuffed itself into his brain through his eyes and ears and nose. It felt like it was drowning him. 

He thought it might actually be drowning him. 

Tubbo clicked his tongue and sighed. “Could you talk again, please?” Only his voice answered back, asking the same question. 

A new emotion bubbled up inside Tubbo. For the past however long he’d been there, he’d been fairly numb, but now he felt—he felt so fucking  _lonely_.  End, it was suffocating. It drilled its way into his chest and into his lungs, squeezing them until he couldn’t breathe. 

Or maybe that was from the sob building in his ribcage. He let it out in a great, gasping heave, curling around himself. It wracked his frame every time he cried, the echoes deafening him. 

_ “ Woah, woah, Tubbo what’s wrong? Do you want to see the bees?” _

Tubbo shuddered as the voice played again, feeling like a soothing balm over burns. As pitiful as it sounded, simply hearing someone else—even if it was him going insane—made him feel entirely less alone. 

Of course the moment ended all too soon, and he was left alone in the void again. A hollow feeling burrowed into his chest, and he released one more cry before wiping his face. Granted, there wasn’t anything better to do than crying, really, but it felt pitiful and unproductive. 

Tubbo didn’t like feeing pitiful and unproductive. 

Sniffling, he stood, still feeling mildly disoriented at the prospect of the walls being floors and the floors being walls. After a moment, he decided that he would walk in a certain direction and hopefully come across something. 

He didn’t want it admit it to himself, but he doubted he would find something. 

Turning in a full circle, he decided on a random direction, as no way stood out to him particularly. His first few steps were shy, almost like he wasn’t sure if he was able to move more in one direction. Once he was moving though, a sense of desperation hit him, and he broke out into a sprint. 

In his life, Tubbo had never been particularly athletic; he got winded easily and didn’t enjoy sports as much as some other kids. Here, though, there was no burn in his lungs or ache in his legs.  _Nothing_ seemed to affect him physically and it was driving him fucking crazy. He wanted to feel something that wasn’t mental or emotional. In the few hours (or days, or weeks—he couldn’t actually remember) he’d been there, nothing about him had changed physically. 

So he kept running. Running and running and running for what might’ve been hours. He ran and never found anything. He ran until he tripped and fell, landing flat on his face. When he pushed himself up, blood dripped from his nose onto the ground below. 

He cried again. 

He wasn’t exactly sure why. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> any requests for a pov or any content for me to write? like certain character dynamics or scenes details, etc. im trying to switch it up and challenge myself to post it by the new year. 
> 
> regardless, goodnight/good morning/good afternoon wherever you are and merry christmas or happy holidays!!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> big thanks to SilverToothless87 for giving me the motivation to write this chapter and give me ideas for future chapters!! you're a real one. 
> 
> TW/CW: none really, although there is a moment where tommy picks at his hands and runs a finger over the scars on his lips. 
> 
> without further ado, here are 2.3k words of softness.

When he wakes for the second time in the same room, covered in his brother's cloak and Tubbo safely in his arms, Tommy knows he's safe. His mind screams at him, reminds him of the scars and the nightmares and the shadows, but the voices that drift in down the hallway from the living room drown them out. He's safe. Tubbo's safe. They're going to be okay. 

Tommy takes another moment to bask in the silence of what he assumes to be morning. There's light peeking in from behind closed blinds and the air feels fresh in the way that only morning can bring. The fur that lines Techno's cloak is soft between his fingers and warm on his legs. His mind is clear right now—the fragments of horror that seem to constantly rattle around his brain have calmed. It's all very refreshing. 

_Cat_ starts as a warm hum as he turns to wake Tubbo. It doesn't take much more than a light shake to wake the boy. He watches as Tubbo gains consciousness and stills for a moment before hearing the tune of _Cat_ and smiling. 

"Hello," he mumbles, voice quiet and hair messed up in a way that only deep sleep can manage. 

_Soft_ , Tommy thinks before smiling and returning the greeting. 

Tommy knows Tubbo is fully awake already, the ability forcefully seared into them both, but he lets the shorter boy soak up the calmness as well, knowing that some sort of chaos awaits them outside the room. There are people out in the living room that he can't remember. They're barely familiar and certainly not strangers, but apart from his two brothers, Tommy can't seem to put faces to names to people. He lets out a frustrated huff. 

Tubbo hums from where his face is in Tommy's side, a question staining his inflection. 

"I can't remember anybody's names other than Wilbur and Techno's."

"Well, that's better than me." His voice is muffled. "I could only remember Bad and that was after the one in the smiley-face mask told me." 

Tommy squints his eyes in concentration. "Bad?" 

"The one that looks kinda like Them." 

"Ah," he says eloquently in response. 

They fall back into a peaceful quiet, letting their thoughts fill it. Tommy's stuck on the thought of _what happens now?_ He's almost positive Tubbo's thinking the same thing. Everything here is bright and strange in a familiar way, like coming back to a skill you haven't practiced in a long time.

 _Only one way to find out_ , he concludes. 

"Suppose we should get on with the day now, huh?" He says to Tubbo, who's been absently picking at the lining of Techno's cloak. 

Tubbo sighs dramatically in a way that has Tommy grinning from his ridiculousness. "I suppose so," he says reluctantly. 

"Don't sound too put-off about it." Tommy grins, getting out of the bed, pleased to find the air outside the covers isn't freezing. "I don't know about you, but I'm starving."

At the thought of food, Tubbo's stomach lets loose a growl that sends them both into a fit of quiet laughter, seemingly making the bright air lighter. It raises Tommy's spirits for the day and gives him a little extra motivation to move forward. 

They don't have much to do in terms of getting ready; brushing their teeth—which Tommy decides he will never take for granted again—and splashing some water on their faces from the little basin on the dresser is really it. They don't have any clothes to change into or any specific morning routine to go through. Though, Tommy supposes, constantly checking behind you and in the corners of the room for shadow beings that don't exist in their current realm could be considered a routine. But that's neither here nor there. 

Well, Tommy's _here._ They are _There._

That's something. 

They finish up with little fiasco and face the door. Nerves suddenly build in Tommy's gut, twisting and coiling like thick vines. It's not enough to make him space out but it is enough to have him start picking at his hands anxiously. When Tubbo puts a stop to that, he takes to rubbing his thumb over his lips, feeling the raised scar tissue there. 

He doesn't regret it. 

He regrets it happened to Tubbo. 

An awkward laugh bubbles out of his throat. "Suddenly, I'm nervous." 

Tubbo gives him a grin and a glance out of the corner of his eye. Taking the blonde's hand, he says, "It's okay. I'll be here with you." 

Tommy releases a breath he didn't know he was holding and squeezes the shorter boy's hand in return. He would never have enough words to express how thankful he is for Tubbo and he could only hope the brunette understands 

He does. He always does.

The relatively short walk from their room to the living room is filled with near-silent footsteps and the quiet, breathy humming of _Cat._ It soothes his nerves and solidifies the idea that they are safe. That, even though some corners and rooms of the house remained unlit and dark, they're safe. 

When they enter the doorway, they were not met with the stares Tommy was expecting. They were not met with much of anything, for that matter. Quietly, they stand and watch morning life go on. It seems that no one had left the house from the days prior, if the large assortment of miscellaneous pillows and blankets strewn across the floor were anything to go by. Everyone looks to be broken off into different groups but not separated—someone would turn from one group to another, sharing laughs and words. Some things were shared among the group at large, and a unanimous smile or laugh or huff would break across everyone's faces. 

Tommy smiles. Everything is so _alive_. 

A conversation across the room catches his attention: "What do you think they'd like for breakfast?" 

Now, Tommy can't quite recognize the voice, but it brings an astounding bloom of warmth to his chest. Coupled with the fact that they care enough to ask what Tommy and Tubbo want for breakfast without them being there sends happy sparks to his hands, and he moves them accordingly. 

Tubbo catches the movement and smiles. 

"Probably, like, waffles or something. He loved those as a kid." 

Tommy recognizes that to be Techno, and his small grin grows. It turns into a full smile when he hears Wilbur chime in with "Oh yeah! He would just eat them plain, wouldn't he? For a little kid, he was very opposed to getting sticky in any way possible." 

"Really?" A new voice chimes in. It's deep and reminds him of Techno. "He seems like the kind of kid to try and get as messy as possible on purpose." 

The warm voice chuckles. "Right? But no, he was surprisingly insistent on being clean. Probably had something to do with the fact that I literally picked him up off the streets looking like he'd never had a bath in his life." There was a strange fondness to the voice. 

Deciding that was a good place to chime in and make their presence known, Tommy opens his mouth to comment before snapping it shut. What if he was too loud? What if, somehow, They heard him? A tremor starts in his hands. 

Tubbo takes notice almost immediately and squeezes his hand. "You're okay," he says confidently. "You're safe here, I promise." 

Swallowing, Tommy nods. 

He tries again. 

"And I would've added another bath to my life if I could remember where the damn bathroom was." He's proud to say his voice comes out much less shaky than he thought it'd be. 

Everyone whips around to face them, and _there_ are the stares Tommy had been expecting earlier. 

"Uh," Tubbo stays stiltedly, "Good morning." 

There's a moment of silence before everyone breaks into what feels like relieved laughter. Tommy lets out a breath and faces Tubbo with a grin, who's returning it just as bright. 

"Well then, supposing you heard us talking about breakfast, do waffles sound like a plan?"

Warmth settles around his shoulders, similar to Techno's cloak and he breaks into a smile. End, he's been smiling a lot. Not that he minds, really."Yeah, they sound good." He turns to Tubbo questioningly. 

Tubbo nods in agreement. "Sounds good." 

"Perfect!" Wilbur claps his hands. "I was hoping you'd say yes because it's really the only thing we have ingredients for. Well, that or cake. But I don't think you should be having cake for breakfast." He pauses. "Unless you want it?" 

As exciting as it sounds, Tommy doesn't think his body could handle anything as sweet as cake after eating sticks and nuts and—and—and that's it. He'd rather not think about the other things. Sticks and nuts and basically leaves for however long they were gone. 

"I think I'll vomit if cake is the first actual thing I eat in, like, months, or something." Tommy pauses, a thought coming to mind. "How long were we gone?" The good mood seems to be sucked from the air as everyone grimaces. 

"Ten months," Someone answers. Tommy turns and finds that someone to be Bad, if he remembers correctly. Panic swells slightly at the sight of him. 

"Only ten months?" To be fair, it could've been ten hours and Tommy probably wouldn't have known the difference. His time in hell felt so much longer. 

Bad sighs and rubs a hand over his face. "We can discuss more of this once you guys have eaten and get comfortable. But, basically, time there moves faster than time here. So, what was ten months for us could've been 12 or 15 months for you." 

Tommy's fingers flutter anxiously, and he's pleased to find Tubbo's hand is still in his. The information rolls around in his head, bouncing between thoughts. It was late May, early June at the latest when they disappeared. That would mean—

"Holy shit, Tubbo. You're 17 now." He pauses, face scrunching up. " _I'm_ almost 17." 

The room is silent for a moment while everyone processes it. 

Something ugly rolls in Tommy's gut at the fact that instead of parties and presents and friends, Tubbo's birthday was spent trying not to breathe too loud and sleeping with both eyes open. (They were always so tired.) He didn't even say happy birthday. Granted, he barely knew the time of day while _There_ , but the guilt still eats at him. 

"Hey, stop that." Tubbo tugs at his hand, not unkindly. "Don't blame yourself. There's literally no way it could be your fault." 

"But—"

"No buts. Now, we're gonna sit down and eat these waffles and shower after, okay?" Tubbo's voice is kind, pulling him from the haze he didn't realize he was drifting into.

Tommy offers up a wobbly smile. "Okay." The grin Tubbo gives him in return is enough to make his chest feel warm again, and his smile turns more solid. 

"Why don't you two sit down while we finish breakfast?" Warmth seeps from the voice into Tommy's bones and heart, and all he can do is nod in response as Tubbo drags them towards one of the mounds of blankets and pillows on the ground. 

A few people that Tommy can't quiet remember wave at him and send small smiles their way. He returns them to the best of his ability as he lets Tubbo pull him down onto the softness. He wraps himself around Tubbo almost on reflex, relishing in the way his shorter friend's hands soothingly find their way into his hair and into comforting runs down his back. 

In the background, there's some shuffling and muffled swearing as something scuffs across the ground. A question flits around the room and Tommy figures it must've found its answer when a comfortable blanket of silence falls over them, backed by the quiet noises of cooking in the kitchen. 

Tommy's so relaxed. He can feel Tubbo at-ease below him. He doesn't think it could get nicer. 

It does, somehow. 

Soft, familiar, comforting notes of _Cat_ dance around the room. Tommy releases an audible breath and sinks farther into Tubbo's embrace. The atmosphere reminds him of something in the back of his mind. There are no specifics or fine details, but he remembers feeling warm and happy like this before. It fills him up like he's a bottle collecting sunlight and happiness, and he can't say he minds that much. 

It all comes tumbling forth when the nice, warm man with the green and white bucket hat hands him a plate of waffles and he murmurs, "Thanks, Dad." without much thought. 

At the same time, Tubbo says, "Thank you, Phil." 

Tommy can physically _feel_ the room stop. Everyone's eyes are wide. His eyes are wide. The man—his dad's eyes are wide. Phil's eyes are wide. The plate has stopped mid-transfer between them. 

"Dad," he says again. "Dad—Phil. Dad. Dad!" 

"Phil!" Tubbo says with an awe-tinged glee, and Tommy can't help but replicate the expression on his friend's face. 

Phil nearly drops his half of the plate in shock. Quickly, carefully, he pulls it from Tommy's hands and places it on the ground next to him. Then he pulls Tommy into what he thinks might be the best hug ever. Tubbo is soon squished in next to him, and great wings wrap around them, secure and soft. 

Tommy thinks he's crying, maybe. He knows Phil is crying, if the shuddering of the man's shoulders is anything to go by. 

"Oh, gods above," his dad murmurs into his shoulder. "Tommy. You're okay. You're okay, Tubbo." It sounds almost like he's rambling but Tommy can't really find it in himself to care. 

Tubbo's hand finds his again, and his fingers wrap around them reflexively. Two more warm bodies press up behind him, and he is home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i actually,,,really love this chapter. so soft,, so cute. they're so happy.
> 
> it's tragic, really.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uh lol so it's been a hot sec,,,a very hot sec. sorry i just got very unmotivated to do anything and i think i went through a depression for a second but its getting better now :)
> 
> tbh i kinda hate how i ended it but i hope posting something will get me going again, so pls enjoy!

  
Watching Tommy and Tubbo roam around the SMP, fairly carefree and happy, Wilbur wonders if this is how Phil felt watching him and his brothers growing up. He is in no way their father, but the protective instincts that come with being an older brother seem to parallel those of a father. Seeing them laugh with each other soothes the fire that ignites in his chest every time they look so much as wary of their surroundings. 

Tommy's head is in Tubbo's lap, who is trying to braid flowers into the strands. It's longer than when they first disappeared, now curling near his jaw and in his eyes. Strangely, Tubbo's doesn't seem to have grown that much, an inch, maybe two, longer. It's long enough that he keeps tossing his head to the side to keep it from getting in his eyes, though. 

A presence appears behind him, and Wilbur turns his head to find Techno there. His brother looks the same, for the most part. His hair is still pink and his eyes are still blue and piercing. (Unless he gets mad and the bloodlust starts. Then they're red and bloody and you'll drown in them.) Tusks protrude from his lower jaw and his crown sits on his head. But, somethings slightly off. His hair looks messy and slightly tangled, as opposed to its normal shine. The blue of his eyes are dull and tired-looking, and his mouth is pressed into a thin line, curling around the tusks. The crown sits crookedly in between his ears. 

Wilbur watches Techno fiddle with the edges of his cape and asks, "Are you okay?" 

Techno, for some reason, looks startled at the question. "Oh, yeah. I'm good, I just..." His eyes drift to the two boys laying in the grass. "Yeah." He gestures vaguely towards them. 

He understands. Well, Wilbur might not understand _understand,_ but he understands what his brother is saying. There's a look in all three of their eyes that you can't miss. It's in the way they stare at dark corners and turn on all the lights in the house without turning them back off. It's in the panicked shoving of food into mouths before realizing that the food is of abundance. It's in the way that they wake up from trashing, clawing at some unseen force, but never making a noise. Wilbur watched his one brother go through it years ago, and now he's watching what are practically two more go through it. 

There's a silence between them where Wilbur just nods and pats the ground next to him, going back to watching the boys in the field. The grass rustles and Techno settles himself beside him. He watches the hybrid tilt his head upwards. The sun is warm. A pleased smile finds its way onto Wilbur's face. 

"Wilbur!" Tommy calls. 

Wilbur jumps at how loud it is. Well, it's not actually _that_ loud, but for Tommy—this new, quiet Tommy—it could be eat-shattering. 

He smiles at the teen. "What?" He shouts back across the green. 

Tommy, followed closely by Tubbo, makes his way towards the two, the distance clearly making him a little uneasy. "Can we take a walk around?" 

"Sure," Wilbur says, getting up. He knows that ' _we_ ' means ' _me, Tubbo, and anyone else I can get to walk around with us.'_ He turns to Techno. "You coming?" 

Techno seems to think for a second, even though Wilbur knows he's going to say yes. Ever since the two boys have come back, Techno has been soft towards them. He pretends that's not the case, but Wilbur can see right through him. He can see it in the way double-check the torches are lit in the boys' room and in the way he will run a hand over their heads, rumbling when they lean into it, pleased. It's in the way he lets them have his cloak more often than not and it's in the way he lets them lean against his side on the couch, soft silence blanketing them. 

"Yeah, okay," he says finally. 

Tommy absolutely _lights up_ , turning to Tubbo, who matches his face. His hands flap in excitement and Tubbo claps quietly. 

Wilbur can't stop himself from grinning, not even bothering to it behind his hand. Techno offers up a small grin as well, and the boys' joy seems to increase tenfold from it. And who's Wilbur to deny them any happiness? 

Tommy grabs for Tubbo's hand and begins pulling him down towards the main path, his two brothers trailing behind them. He's happily chattering to Tubbo, who adds his own input every now and then. 

"Clingyinnit," Wilbur mouths to his older brother. 

Techno snorts and shakes his head, acting like Wilbur is the dumbest person to ever exist. 

By the time they make it to the community house, the boys have traded talking for swinging their linked hands back and forth, humming softly. They're too far away to make out what the song is, but Wilbur is content to just watch them be happy. 

Down the path, Wilbur watches someone approach. It's Eret, he realizes after a second or two. Age-old apprehension bubbles in his stomach at the sight of them; while he's long-since forgiven them (two kids going missing in the middle of the war was enough to put it on hold. Ten months of searching was enough to talk. Forgiveness was almost inevitable) the sight of their tall figure still brings memories of dark rooms and deep voices and betrayal. 

Regardless, Wilbur raises his hand in greeting. 

"Hello!" They call. 

Tommy and Tubbo turn to look for the owner of the voice. Wilbur can see the confusion that mars their faces every time someone they have yet to remember comes around. A tentative smile makes its way onto their faces. Tubbo waves and Tommy nods. Eret smiles back. 

"Hello," they say again once they're closer. "You out for a walk as well?" 

Tommy and Tubbo nod, Techno grunts in affirmation, and Wilbur replies, "Mhm. The boys wanted us to talk around with them." 

' _The Boys._ ' It's something everyone has taken to calling Tommy and Tubbo lately. Whether it's because it's shorter and easier to refer to them instead of saying their names, or it's because ' _The Boys_ ' went through all levels of hell together—compartmentalizing their trauma into a name makes everyone feel slightly less guilty—and _Tommy and Tubbo_ were allowed to be safe and happy and not trying not to die every day. It's probably the former. (It's the latter.) 

"That's nice. How are you two doing?" Eret turns to them, their head tilting to the side. 

"We're awesome!" Tubbo beams. "We've been sleeping through the night and eating full meals!" 

The adults cringe. Basic survival shouldn't be the epitome of "awesome." 

Regardless, Eret matches the smile on Tubbo's face with one of their own. "Wonderful! And how are you, Tommy?" 

Tommy nods his head towards Tubbo. "Pretty much what he said. Oh!" He pauses, his smile now seeming bashful. "I've been remembering people more." 

The king smiles gently at this, carefully placing a hand on Tommy's head. "That's really good. I'm proud of you. Both of you." Tommy preens under Eret's hand. Tubbo ducks his head at the words. Eret's heart aches. 

Tommy seems to deflate after a moment, though. "I don't remember you yet. Sorry." 

And Eret suddenly feels too small for how big their body is. Guilt lays on their shoulders, crushing them down, down, down—their heart and chest ache and bruise with it. 

"That's okay." Wilbur frowns at the other. Their voice sounds like it's crumbling, cracking and tearing at the seams. "I'm not sure if you'd want to remember me." 

"Why?" Tubbo is confused, and his voice shows it. Tommy is quiet, looking deep in thought. 

Eret runs a hand across the back of their neck. "I'm not sure if—some of the memories you might get from remembering me wouldn't be pleasant." 

"But I want to remember you. You feel important." Tommy argues, fiddling with his fingers. 

"Familiar," Tubbo says. 

"Familiar," Tommy agrees. 

Gnawing on their lip, they turn to look at Wilbur. He glances between the two youngest, his brother, and his friend-turned-enemy-turned-friend. Sucking on his teeth, Wilbur decides, "You should probably tell them." He turns to look at Techno. 

The piglin hybrid nods. "The lack of remembrance of people close to you starts to wear on you, manifesting as more anxiety and paranoia. You begin to wonder if these people can really be trusted or even if you really knew them and it just..." he trails off, eyes somewhere on the horizon. "It just doesn't end well." 

Wilbur knows what he's talking about. He remembers, vividly. The month or so after Techno returned from _There_ , everything seemed to be going well. But apparently, Techno felt like he wasn't remembering enough; the games they'd play as children, favorite colors, whether or not Tommy was ticklish on his ribs and behind his knees. It had manifested itself into something monstrous and dangerous, not only to them but to Techno, too. Everything was okay in the end, but Wilbur didn't want to have to watch his younger brother go through it as well. 

Eret concedes, nodding. "About a year ago, we had a war for the independence of a country. In a—a stupid grab for power, I betrayed you all. You, uh, you died." They say weakly. "Both of you. All of you."

And, God, Wilbur has known all of this. Since he respawned afterward up until now. It doesn't make it hurt any less. 

"I'm sorry, even if you don't remember me. You deserve to be mad at me if you do, and I won't blame you. But I'm sorry." 

Tommy and Tubbo are staring at them almost blankly. If it weren't for the crease in their foreheads and what looks like the formation of a headache, Wilbur would think they were comatose. 

"I-I remember being scared. And hurt," Tommy admits.

Tubbo shudders. "I remember it being dark."

A silence falls on them after that, large and gaping. It swallows their words and has them all staring off somewhere only they can see. They sit like that until the sun starts to dip below the horizon and the crickets start to sing. 

"I forgive you." 

Eret whips their head around so fast they're almost positive they got whiplash. Wilbur and Techno seem to be in the same situation, and Eret can't tell if that makes them feel better or worse. 

"What?" Their voice is weak. 

Tommy picks at his nails, staring into the sunset. Tubbo is leaned against his side, eyelids half-closed, breaths even. After casting his eyes from the boy next to him to the king in front of him, Tommy says, "I forgive you." 

"I-wha-do—" Eret stutters, "do you remember? Me, I mean?" 

"No," Tommy says simply. 

"Then why—" They're cut off by a sigh much too tired to be coming from a 16-year-old. A child. (Physically, at least.)

"Because I—because too much bad has happened to me—" he pauses, looking at the boy now sleeping on his shoulder— "to us. Too much has happened to us to go around hating people I know were important. I know you made me happy at some point, I can feel it. I just—don't remember your name." 

And, _fuck_. Eret stares at this boy, this _kid_ , in front of them, looking far too tired for his years and much too old for his skin, as he forgives them. For what was possibly one of the greatest acts of betrayal he would ever feel. And he forgives them. Their eyes travel to Wilbur and Techno; the former nods lightly and the latter just shrugs. Tears spring to their eyes uninvited, and they don't try to stop their fall. 

"Thank you," they cry. " _Thank you._ " 

Tommy smiles and closes his eyes, letting the sunset wash over his face again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can you tell that ending was rushed? :D
> 
> anyways, you know the drill--leave a comment with any questions or requests you have. they really motivate me and i very much enjoy reading them :))


End file.
